Faction The Gray Cloaks [NIO Tales From the Front | Force Corps Knights]

[Imperial Warlord Zovesa]

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WEEKS AFTER THE NEW IMPERIAL INVASION OF OBTREXTA-ALBARRIO SECTORS

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Zuborte Ma​

Mygeeto System, Albarrio Sector, Outer Rim​

NIO Obtrexta-Albarrio Occupation Sector (OA-OS)

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Aboard the Defiance-Class Star Destroyer “Karak Marasiah”​

Special Task Force Group Zuborte-Itzeho “Scavenger Prime”​

First New Imperial Crusader Fleet, Imperial Force Corps

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The Force Hospitaller inspected the cybernetic arm prosthetic, while her medical compatriot tended to the nub that was the remnant of the High Knight Marshal’s entire arm. The nub was a small protrusion from her shoulder. It’s old wound was encased in a chrome polished metallic cap. Inside, a craterous socket where the prosthetic would lock into place. The Hospitaller nurse holding the new arm, placed it gently down on a tray attached to the Marshal’s command chair.​

With a deft hand she reached into the arm’s circuitry and plucked out the heads of extendable wires. Pulling them out like metal worms plucked from the earth, she drew their long encased wiring. She strung it tight as she jerked her had away. The other Hospitaller prepped the socket of the nub for connection. A multi-tool glove on her other hand activated the syringes festooned to her fingertips.​

She stabbed the Marshal in her shoulder and squeezed it’s Bacta enhanced healing concoction into the flesh, producing a localized anaesthetic. Finished administering the necessary altering medicines, the syringe wielding Hospitaller nodded to the other. The other began connecting the wires of the arm to their companion sockets, before engaging the full neuro-synchronisation process. The wires pulled themselves into their new homes and the cybernetic upper bicep of the arm was reeled into the nub sockets. Until the arm was fully connected to the shoulder.​

The arm maintenance Hospitaller turned the prosthetic so that the under belly of the fore-arm faced up. She then turned around and beckoned for a DD-13 Medical Assistant Droid to creep forward. The tripedal droid scuttled over and began stress testing the gears and cables of the mechanical sinews that manipulated the arm’s cybernetic digits and joints.​

As this went on the Chiss Force Knight, the High Knight Marshal Zovesa, kept her nerve. She was in her grey uniform fatigues, with her top removed so that the arm could be installed. Her upper body was covered by a simple blank tank-top fitted to her body like an armor weave body suit. She eyed the data-display holo-projector that was mounted to the other arm rest of her chair. Its bulbous forward projector lens was flickering with translucent blue ghostly visages. Projected in a hovering blooming orb of information was the very edge of the Mygeeto System.​

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Before her was the world Mygeeto. The site of a months long siege and a final battle that had severely wounded her, and her Force Corps. A site of her shameful near fall to the darkside during the battle with the Dark Councillor Taeli Raaf. A battle she would have lost had it not been for the Lord Executor, Vaulhar’s intervention. The though made her dark blue lips bent into snarl. It had already been a few weeks after the final push on Mygeeto yielded the desired results of a Sith-Imperial withdrawal from the Mygeeto System. And yet her flesh still ached as if it was in the middle of the action. Passing her beaming red vision from Mygeeto she surveyed the rest of the last sectors of the system – the vast Zuborte Ma Asteroid Belt and the ice world beyond it Itzeho.​

The Sovereign Imperator had ordered a System Superiority Sweep be executed to expel any remnant support forces for the Sith-Imperial Armada left supporting the Sith Grand Army of Braxant. This would give the NIO’s New Imperial Mygeeto Army breathing room to prepare for future operations. With that command given, a special fragment of the Force Corps New Imperial First Crusader Fleet was partitioned into a Special Task Force Group – Scavenger Prime.​

The new fleet unit was displayed as a large triangular Star Destroyer icon silhouette drifting through the speckled stylized symbols for the asteroid belt. Two smaller silhouettes denoted the two scouting vanguards sent ahead, Aurek and Besh. Those that could be spared from the Force Corps Auxilia on Mygeeto were spilt along with the two scouting vanguards, led by the Force Knights Task Commanders.​

Zovesa flicked her eyes from icon to icon, thinking, calculating, meditating, and brooding. Work. She needed to work. It would distract her from the turmoil that still messed with her balance. The darkness was defeated but not driven from her. It still complained deep inside her mind. Berating her for being too weak to grasp the destiny that was truly hers. She had the potential to be a devastating Darth and yet she discarded that unlimited power for limited discipline. Zovesa smacked her lips and shut off the hologram. Her fist tightened and she flirted with the idea of smashing it through the arm rest but refrained. The flesh had healed, but, it seems the wounds to her soul were still very much fresh.​

When she released her fist, she noticed that a breathless silence had suffocated the atmosphere between her, the two Hospitallers, and the gathered combat-information-center (CIC) bridge staff. Zovesa sighed and rubbed her face, rubbing her palm across her eyes and forehead. The captain of the Karak Marasiah, the twi’lek Lieutenant Commander Varvaryan, looked down at Zovesa from where he stood beside her.​

He coughed into his gloved hand and cleared his throat. Zovesa dropped her hand from her face and rolled her eyes to the Lt. Commander, “Problem?”​

“No ma’am,” Varvaryan said.​

“But, perhaps you should be in your quarters recuperating, I can handle the Trip-S Ops.”​

“I’ve been recuperating for weeks, Lt. Commander,” Zovesa growled.​

“I can lead this Op.”​

“Be that what it may, ma’am. I still think it a good idea if you conducted any commands from your quarters. We can patch the updates to you there if you -,” Varvaryan’s plea was immediately silenced by Zovesa smashing her palm against the CIC data streaming table before here.​

The loud clattering smack killed any background task chatter and attracted every eye in the CIC. Zovesa took in a deep breath, while Varvaryan sighed in a slow exhale.​

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, Zovesa,” Varvaryan whispered, concerned.​

Zovesa replied, “I know.”​

“But, I can’t be by myself right now Varvaryan.”​

“I just can’t.”​

“Let me work. Soldiering clears my mind.”​

“Can you bare with me for now?”​

Varvaryan smiled, “Aye Marshal. That I can.”​

“Thank you,” said Zovesa.​

“Marshal! Knights Commander Wymar has returned to the ship with a report,” chimed a CIC Officer.​

Zovesa nodded, “Good, have him come up with the rest of the Knights.”

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TAGS: Rurik Fel Mavia Errant Dorian Sicarrio Jekadius Lawson Sor-Jan Xantha Voren Lef Lambert Vasari

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[Errant]

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A swift return from Alashan saw Errant, alongside the other Imperial Knights, aboard the Karak Marasiah. He lacked any souvenirs from their stay in the Zeffo civilization, choosing not to lay claim to anything located within the ruins. It wasn't his first trip through an unearthed city, nor would it be his last, which made such matters more of a chore than anything else. Still, the Echani managed to familiarize himself with Lambert, an easygoing Arkanian-Offshoot with somewhat similar ideas, at least, it appeared that way to the younger Knight. Errant lacked a desire to dig deeper into his ally's mind or emotions, given a sense of respect he held for him, as well as the other Knights serving the New Imperial Order's crusade. Few willingly stood before the might of the Sith Empire, even less managed to survive such engagements and live to tell the tale. Though he couldn't quite call them family or friends, Errant knew them as comrades, and that fact alone more than earned said respect.

"I mean no disrespect when I pose this question, Commander," Errant fell in step beside Rurik, the lithe Echani moving almost silently through the ship's halls, a remarkable feat considering the armor adorning his form. "Is it not strange her Lady, High Knight Marshel Zovesa, would have us meet her in the infirmary while she is recovering? She is joined at almost all hours by Commander Varvaryan. Surely he could handle whatever it is she wishes to share?" his slender fingers clasped together beneath his flowing cloak, his gait regal and precise. "Which reminds me, Commander, why is it they sent us away from the front lines to scavenge relics? I understand their prominence and what power they can provide the New Imperial Order, but we aren't archaeologists. We trained to engage the Sith in open combat and eradicate their tainted existence. It just seems like improper use of resources," Errant's inquisitive mannerisms guided him, the young man unphased as he questioned his Commander.

Those more in touch with the Force Corps structuring would know Errant to be one of Zovesa's direct apprentices, taken on by the Chiss upon his arrival. The young Echani carried himself expertly, each step measured as if destiny shaped his path. Nothing about his tone spoke of disrespect towards either Commander Rurik or the High Knight Marshall herself, the Knight-Errant seemed curious more than anything else. Yet, that curiosity did not entirely control his actions. Something else appeared to bubble up within the Imperial Knight's being, his spirit yearning for the chaos of battle, for a chance to cross blades with the craven Sith under the Dark Lord's boot. Had Errant not traversed the ship beside the others, he'd likely of been trembling from anticipation.

"Do you think she will be sending us off on another mission, Commander?" Errant perked up at the thought, his form straightening even more somehow. "Perhaps we'll have the opportunity to join the Sovereign-Imperator on the front lines of Muunilist? I've heard Kaine Zambrano was sighted within the capital city of Harnaidan. Mayhaps we'll be deployed to subdue and destroy the bastard once and for all."

Rurik Fel // Imperial Warlord Zovesa // Lambert Vasari // Dorian Sicarrio
Mavia // Sor-Jan Xantha // Jekadius Lawson // Voren Lef ​

 

[Isaiah Dax]

Location: Boarding the Karak Marasiah
Equipment: Tenebrae-pattern Commando Armor Mk. II [Force Knight Variant], Crimson Lightsaber
Tags: Rurik Fel Mavia Errant Dorian Sicarrio Jekadius Lawson Sor-Jan Xantha Voren Lef
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Knight Isaiah Dax, one of the newest additions to the Imperial Knights was making his arrival onto the Karak Marasiah in a shuttle that had transported him from Niaraun. He spent his days there training with the Imperial Knights and study their utilization of the force and when the time came he was requested to meet the High Knight Marshal for the first time. He was nervous and rightfully so, he spent his whole life under the Sith Empire and was in a foreign environment. But what he knew for a fact, there was no going back. This was his new home now and he chose to leave everything behind in the case of his own moral dilemmas. He left his family name and his legacy, something he never thought he would ever do. Without it he wouldn't have made it so far in the Sith Empire, living a cushy life as an inquisitor occasionally performing a purge or two. He sat there in the shuttle with no sense of time, spacing out from his intended goal. But he then snapped back to reality when the pilots of the shuttle announced their arrival. Isaiah in his new knight armor stood before the exit of the shuttle as it landed in the star destroyer, revealing the knight to the ship.

He stepped out to find an officer waiting for him. "The High Marshal has requested you see her in the infirmary. You'll go down the hallway until you see a turn to the left to which you will then see the elevator bank that will take you up. Good luck knight."

"Thank you ensign." Isaiah said to the officer before he went off to his destination. The halls were busy with navy personnel and stormtroopers getting through, he really felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb with his shiny armor and lightsaber at his side. It wasn't something the new knight was comfortable with. When he reached the turn the ensign instructed him to follow, he came across a group of those similar in appearance to him all walking in a herd. Those were probably the rest of the force knights he was supposed to be with. He had eventually caught up to them and wanted to make himself known. "Thank the force I bumped into you guys." He said casually unaware of the social cues shared between the knights. "I'm a recent addition. I'm Isaiah Dax pleasure to meet you all." He said with a stupid grin on his face eager to get noticed by the people he would be working with on this op.

 

[Rurik Fel]

Duty was never an impasse. At least so it was for Rurik. He'd rarely shifted his attention from the duties demanded by the Force Corps. So such was the nature of a Jedi difficult to shake from his form. As much as he'd postured reviling their rigid adherence to their code, Wymar was as much a disciple of his own. Inline with that for the Imperial Codex? Perhaps but even so, pointedly unothodox.

At his flank, Errant. He was promising student among the Imperial Knights. Though not one of the Squires he'd raised to Knighthood personally in Mavia and Lambert, Wymar was not ignorant of the boy's potential. He was Varanin, he'd hailed from a bloodline of brilliance in the force but even still, the boy's bloodline was addled with darkness. Even so...Rurik was skeptical if that would ever reflect unto Errant. Thus...he kept a close eye in his most dire moments. Those moments of vulnerability, weakness, anguish. That was when darkness emerged in force. That was when it took control of people, molded them. It was born of struggle and pain.

His mother was in-exile, his father was a manifestation of it all, as Rurik knew him. A manifestation of anger, pain, anguish...struggle. Varanin hailed from bloodlines crossed in royalty and force prodigality. Even if this information was...esoteric, held close to the vest among a scattered few within the Order, Rurik took it as more than a mere note of a peculiar origin but as a chance of the boy used a piece within a greater design. What it entailed? He didn't know...he wasn't sure it ever mattered. Too many were delusional in regarding themselves with a grander purpose. He could only serve to guide Errant's hand in the now.

To Varanin's inquiry Rurik arched a brow, nodding once in regards to it. He was right to criticize Zovesa's decisions. She was their leader but even so, she was not perfect, she was not infallible. He would be a fool to corner himself into rigid adherence to masters with greater influence than he. He'd done so when he was among the Jedi as they shattered the visage of goodness and purity they sought to uphold far too often and far too drastically for Rurik to ignite his emerald blade again in their stead. Their hearts yearned for the right...but too often did they stand in the wrong.

"I mean no disrespect when I pose this question, Commander,"

"Is it not strange her Lady, High Knight Marshel Zovesa, would have us meet her in the infirmary while she is recovering? She is joined at almost all hours by Commander Varvaryan. Surely he could handle whatever it is she wishes to share?"

"Which reminds me, Commander, why is it they sent us away from the front lines to scavenge relics? I understand their prominence and what power they can provide the New Imperial Order, but we aren't archaeologists. We trained to engage the Sith in open combat and eradicate their tainted existence. It just seems like improper use of resources,"

"Tis all the needs of the front, Errant. I believe the excursion to Alashan was less with the aim of unearthing artifacts and more designed to hone the skills of the more neophyte of our Corps. Battle is the most optimal path just as much as it is the most dangerous. I can only be privy to how each of you behave under duress so much. Alashan was more...controlled. Though in the end, I agree. The Sith, the darkness, that should be our aim." Rurik admitted.

"Do you think she will be sending us off on another mission, Commander?"

"Perhaps we'll have the opportunity to join the Sovereign-Imperator on the front lines of Muunilist? I've heard Kaine Zambrano was sighted within the capital city of Harnaidan. Mayhaps we'll be deployed to subdue and destroy the bastard once and for all."

Rurik mulled over the question in silence for a moment, the padding of his boots beneath the durasteel paneling beneat sounding out through the corridor.

"Perhaps, though as am I aware of it, the battle for Muunilinst is almost won. Still, Errant. Patience. Kaine Zambrano is no stranger to war, he will not position himself so vulnerably. Even so, this war can not be won with the death of one man. Regard himself as a god, he might. Still the battles are fought and won by the troopers. " Rurik states, taking in a breath before continuing.

"Where lies the difference is the hubris of the Sith to believe that they are their Empire and not the men and women who toil, who we fight to liberate. We do what we must but we shant compromise the stratagems at play for a grasp at glory, brother." Rurik says, eventually regarding the new arrival in Isaiah Dax, offering the man a nod. A peculiar nature, not one he expected from a Knight but even so, such were they a new breed.

Imperial Warlord Zovesa | Errant | Mavia | Lambert Vasari | Jekadius Lawson | Dorian Sicarrio | Voren Lef | Sor-Jan Xantha

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Imperial Warlord Zovesa | Mavia | Errant | Rurik Fel | Lambert Vasari | Jekadius Lawson | Voren Lef | Sor-Jan Xantha | Isaiah Dax​

"Ugh..." Dorian tugged at the black body glove, trying to adjust the new breastplate for his armor. He needed to itch his whole body. The armor felt choking, too hot and stuffy for his tastes. It still felt like he was putting it on for the first time. It was a facade, a disguise he put on to blend in with these righteous do-gooders and Force users much more powerful and smarter than him...

No. Keep it up. Wear it until it fits like a glove, just like you said you would.

Still, he itched a bit.

Dorian had never really thought about it, but these ships really were huge. He couldn't imagine finding his way around one of these things regularly. Being trapped in some metal coffin with the great dead beyond just outside? No thanks. His senses were practically cut off at the edge of the Star Destroyer. If there was anything that scared him, it was space. And maybe the green woman who he'd fallen in step with. Mavia was just a little weird. They didn't talk, obviously, because she was always so quiet and Dorian didn't really know what to talk about. Instead he occupied himself with tugging at the collar of his uniform.

Still, he wasn't uncomfortable with the silence. A sort of understanding had been established between the two. They'd needed it to beat back the dozen Zeffo Tomb Guardians they'd faced on Alashan. Of course Dorian could have beaten them on his own, but the help had been appreciated. Cold professionalism was all it was but there was some comfort in knowing that there was someone in the galaxy willing to stab whatever punk that might try to stab him.

Perhaps he could find more people like that here. He recognized most of the people in their group; Errant's incessant questioning gave him a little more information, but it wasn't quite enough. Dorian glanced back at the pasty dude behind him, recognizing him as Knight Lambert. "Yo, sheep, you got any idea what we're doing?" Zovesa was always tight-lipped, and Dorian had a nasty habit of not listening when people spoke.

Hopefully it was some sort of new assignment. Normally after a fight he'd want a few days to chill out and celebrate, but again he'd been rudely reminded that they were in the deep dark abyss of space, very far from friendly territory or any good bathhouses.

Soon enough the Knight Commander in front of him slowed as they entered wherever Zovesa was chilling out. He'd always wondered if she had a nicer room than he did...

Dorian gave a lazy salute and waited for this whole deal to start up.

 

[Mavia]

Mavia marched at a brisk pace just beside her liege Knights Commander, Rurik Wymar. She always kept at his side. It was a presence that grounded her in place and enforced the empty state of focus she always kept her mind encased in. He was her compass. As he had been when he rescued her from the massacre of light on Mirial all those years ago. She was bound to him. Perhaps it was something in their shared trauma at the hands of Sith and Jedi, or perhaps the Force had brought them together in a rare dyad. Whatever the element, metaphysical or physiological, she was by his side.

About her teacher and parental figure, was the other recruits of the Force Knights Order. Closest to her was the curiously perceptive Errant Varanin. As he posed his inquiries and conjectures, Mavia watched him from the corner of her eyes. Her face still faced forward and paralyzed into proper Knight’s etiquette of posture, she had rolled her one organic yellow-green eye and cybernetic red eye to study Varanin. She couldn’t quite place him in the Force. To her he was a dark flame, black and enigmatic but, burned white hot at its center. A strange hybrid lineage of obfuscated dark and powerful light. She had spoken little to Varanin. Of course she had spoken little to any of her fellow Knights, preferring to watch and listen.

In usual stoic lecturing, Rurik replied and instructed as he did. Mavia smiled and passed her glance to catch sight of Dorian fidgeting with his uniform. As usual he found it as ill suiting as a rancor to a Coruscanti merchant’s suit. A sly smile pricked the edges of her lips briefly as she amused herself by indulging in Dorian’s fidgets. She had grown to be very fond of Dorian. Belligerently skilled and uncouth in demeanor but, genuine in his purity to the point of being misunderstood as a dolt. There was a kind soul hidden in that armor of bravado and braggartry. She held up her black glove and screened her mouth from exposing a brief chuckle.

[Adorable], Mavia thought to herself, before drawing her attention to the front.

They had entered a large space that was the infirmary staff office in the Karak Marasiah. But, Zovesa had turned it into her own personal CIC. The High Knight Marshal’s workaholic nature was on fool unashamed display. Mobile data-tables and holo projectors were brought in, powered by a undulating mass of cables that connected each device to gonk droids who shuffled around as moving power sources. The ship’s captain Vavaryan was there along with some bridge staff. And sat at the far end was Zovesa herself. Attended to by Force Hospitallers, attaching her cybernetic arm.

As they entered, Mavia clicked her heels together and thrust her arm up in salute. She held the pose until, Zovesa returned the salute and spoke to Rurik.

“Commander Wymar, good to see you back at the front,” said the High Knight Marshal, feeling out her new cybernetic prosthetic as she stood.

“How was your excursion to Alashan?” she continued.

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TAGS: Rurik Fel Dorian Sicarrio Lambert Vasari Isaiah Dax Errant Jekadius Lawson Sor-Jan Xantha Voren Lef

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[Rurik Fel]

“Commander Wymar, good to see you back at the front,”

“How was your excursion to Alashan?”

Rurik was quick to address his direct superior according to decorum with a salute in line before he spoke up in reply. Sporting his ever characteristic placid inflection.

"Likewise, Knight Marshal. The excursion was not as fruitful as any of us might've liked as far as gathering relics be concerned. However, it was a useful chance to discern unit cohesion and hone the skills of our knights." Rurik stated, letting a moment of pause carry his words into an idle silence before he would speak up again.

"However, the sentiment I've gathered from our Corps is that they'd be better implemented at the front, in the war with the Sith. I see the merit in this critique. This war is one that demands the near entirety of the New Imperial war machine. Our corps is novel and as are its Knights...even still, as harsh as it may seem a trial by fire may be in order. There is only so much that a simulated or controlled environment can replicate. If these men and women are expected to be leaders of men and women they must first fight alongside them...plain and simple." It was then his gaze shifted briefly to Mavia, his eyes catching the glint of her red cybernetic before it drifted to the Echani at its flank and eventually back to the Chiss.

"It was the hubris of the Jedi to shelter their learners and paint a false image of the Galaxy to them which let them degenerate into the outright pitiful state they occupy now. The very same, opulence and complacency bred the adherence to the Rule of Order among the Sith. We can not conceal the nature of the galaxy from our knights. It is a brutal place, a cruel place. The Sith, the darkness embodies this. They must learn to isolate their fears...inoculate them, understand their weaknesses and conquer them, if they are going to be Imperial Knights, Marshal." Rurik states outright.

"Even still, I have no grounds to speak for them. If I am unquestioning of one thing it is that they are each dedicated to the service of the New Imperial Order and its people. They may very well have insight on the means that could be taken by each of them to carve the perfection from the crude marble they occupy now. " Rurik says, ever speaking eloquently, his noble vocabulary honed from his birthright in Serenno and his later adoptive residence world in Anaxes.

Dorian Sicarrio | Lambert Vasari | Isaiah Dax | Errant | Jekadius Lawson | Sor-Jan Xantha | Voren Lef

 

[Imperial Warlord Zovesa]

As Knights Commander Rurik Wymar spoke, Zovesa rounded the large mobile holo-projector table that occupied the space between them. She stepped over winding cables and scampering mouse droids as she pulled up the sleeves of her uniform and button up the top. Zovesa walked with a noticeable limp in her stride. Still recovering from the crushing blow of shrapnel to her chest and thigh, her leg still ached as she drew it forward causing her to land heavier on the other side to compensate.

Reaching the table, she forced herself to straightened her composure. She didn’t expect them to break the etiquette of a Knight despite their weariness, so neither should she. She received Rurik’s report in full while holding her posture at attention, with her black gloved hands clasped together behind her back.

Succinct and focused use of elegant vocabulary to deliver a direct answer was Rurik’s method of conversation. A method that Zovesa had come to rely on. If there was anyone of her Knights Commanders she trusted the most, it was Rurik. He was her compliment. Her forward battle sodden style could only keep charging forward when Rurik held the line behind her, a rock for her to lunge from.

Should the day come she should fall in battle, or if the Force was merciless reached a moment of retirement. It was he who would take her place. A High Knight Marshal must always be a solid foundation in soldiering and in the Force for other Knights to follow. Rurik was her foundation. Though her probably knew little of it nor would deliver a similar informal acknowledgement, Zovesa admired and relied on him greatly. She had hoped, however, in his own way, he did the same.

“Agreed, Rurik,” replied Zovesa.

“The Alashan expedition, however, has served the NIO a tertiary purpose.”

Zovesa continued lowering a hand onto the projector table to prop her up, unable to handle the pain from prolonged weight on her thigh’s wound. The Force Hospitaller’s noticed this and began to approach Zovesa when they were motioned to halt. The Chiss, knowing they would react, threw other hand backwards gesturing them to stay put while still keeping eye-contact with Rurik.

“It secures our flank and extends our supply lines,” Zovesa said, trying to speak through the pain, ever the workaholic.

“The offensive along the Braxant Run is the spear that will skewer the Sith Empire at its heart, Rurik.”

“But a spear is only as powerful as the arms that thrust it. Alashan and the other border worlds are those arms, along with the Imperial Center.”

“But, you are correct. War and battle will temper their metal into the blades I need. I’m sure they are becoming impatient.”

Zovesa smirked briefly when she spoke of the ‘impatience’ as her red Chiss eyes caught sight of her squire, the Errant Varanin. Pushing herself from the projector, she again took strained steps to approach the Echani Epicanthix. She stopped just a hand’s length from him and burrowed her stare into his pale gilded eyes.

“You have a lot of catching up to do, Varanin,” said Zovesa. She pointed to her other much younger page, Cai, “Even young Raeth here has seen the carnage of battle.”

She nodded and walked across the group making a long circle back to the projector table, “You’ll have your chances, however. You all will.”

“We wont be staying in Mygeeto System for long,” Zovesa said.

“Imperator is having us conduct a System Superiority Sweep and then we are to move to Muunilinst for a full War Council.”

“I will be attending, but, you, under Rurik shall be preparing for the next offensive.”

“Everyone shall have their test. Everyone. The entire Force Corps, Auxilia and Knights will be deployed for Vanguard Operations.”

Zovesa stopped her pacing and leaned on the thick multi-monitor adorned panel rim of the projector table. She looked back to the group and passed her eyes to the other Knights.

“What say our Knights then?” Zovesa asked.

“I’ll hear your concerns and recommendations before we finish the Trip-S and move out to Muun.”

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TAGS: Rurik Fel Dorian Sicarrio Lambert Vasari Isaiah Dax Errant Jekadius Lawson Sor-Jan Xantha Voren Lef

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[Dorian Sicarrio]

Imperial Warlord Zovesa | Mavia | Rurik Fel | Errant | Lambert Vasari | Sor-Jan Xantha | Voren Lef | Isaiah Dashiell

Spoiler: Defeat

Mavia:

Dorian:

Absolutely terrifying.

Green queen giving a little smile and chuckle his way? Never before had such fear gripped his heart. Dorian had smiled and mocked enemies in the past, and in that moment he felt what they had times a thousand. She watched him being uncomfortable, even in such a small way, and laughed. Laughed. Such a sweet sound brought on by the discomfort of another. Truly the woman was a sadist of the highest order. Dorian vowed never to allow such a thing to happen again.

Deep down, though? He realized it'd been a while since he made someone smile. That little feeling of excitement and happiness stuck with him, made him smile even. He wanted to make her smile again.

Though, preferably not at his own expense.

As things usually went, the higher-ups started the conversation. Dorian was forced to hold back all the little jabs and snarky comments he had. He was far from crude marble. Maybe he wasn't the best team player, but when it came down to it, Dorian counted on himself to come out on top in a fight. Zovesa had come out of Mygeeto a lot worse off than everyone else, anyways, and she was supposed to be the best.

Why was she working, anyways? "You okay?" He blurted out as soon as she was finished talking. It took him a moment to realize that his comment might be a little inappropriate. Worse, it'd detract from his own self image of someone who didn't care. He cleared his throat. "I mean, I'd hate to run into a fight if you can't keep up," he explained. Nope, that was probably worse. He winced at his own poor choice in words. Hopefully Mavia didn't laugh at him again.

Hopefully Zovesa didn't beat him up. He probably deserved it, though.

Dorian fell silent, waiting for the other knights to ask their questions or for Zovesa to explain what they'd really be doing.

 

[Paz Koon]

// PROXY //

​

Lambert marched quietly alongside the rest of his fellow Imperial Knights. Thought it was still technically active duty, the time aboard the Marasiah was a welcome reprieve to constant fighting. The clang of his boots matched up the stride of the other knights, harmonizing akin to a muffled percussive symphony. Strong stride and straight posture would betray the observation of outsiders of his condition. He ached, every muscle in his body throbbed and twinged with the echoes of the exertion of war. His body screamed for rest, but alas there was little time for it. He was thankful that things were slowing down, even if they were far from stopping.

Yo, sheep, you got any idea what we're doing?"

Lambert's face turned slightly to look straight at the Knight in front of him. Sheep? What the hell does sheep mean? Lambert's brow contorted slightly, lips pursing inwards. "No, Knight Sicarrio, I haven't got a clue," he responded. He could overhear Errant's inquiry to Commander Wymar, which truthfully mirrored the questions he had himself. "The Knight Marshal tends to be rather deliberate, so I imagine it's something important." He'd heard about the injuries Zovesa had sustained, and he wasn't entirely sure how much was embellished. If the allegation was true, he imagined she should be resting. But, of course, he didn't take her for the type to let anything slow her down. "Why?" Lambert asked a question of his own. "Are you that eager to get back to work, Sicarrio?" he jabbed playfully, a friendly smile across his face.

When they finally entered, and the Knight Marshal came before them, Lambert had to force himself not to wince. As she limped across the room and had to aid herself to stand up straight, he could tell that it wasn't as bad as some had claimed, but she shouldn't have been up an around. He stood quietly and passively as the conversation began. The mention of a superiority sweep didn't exactly make him enthusiastic. Clearly it was necessary, but above all, he only truly desired sleep. Maybe he'd 'gone too hard' as some would say during his time on the front. The meeting he'd attended with Rurik Fel with the NJO was in itself a reprieve, but the biological weaknesses of offshoot physiology were starting to grate on his performance. His kind wasn't exactly made for stamina, even if they were engineered to be miners. A cruel irony if nothing else.

"I mean, I'd hate to run into a fight if you can't keep up,"

Almost immediately, Lambert felt fear for Dorian. He winced and sneakily jabbed his elbow into Knight Sicarro's ribs. Clearing his throat loudly afterward, he attempted to draw attention to himself. "I think what Knight Sicarro is trying to say is that he's concerned for your health and that rest might be a wise alternative to attending an operation," he did his best to clarify. If that didn't save Dorian from what was likely coming for him he wasn't sure what would have. As fearless as he was, the other Knight really needed to stop playing with fire. Zovesa fuse wasn't likely to be at its longest. Especially not right now.

Dorian Sicarrio Errant Rurik Fel Imperial Warlord Zovesa Mavia​

 

[Errant]

Errant remained silent following Rurik's musings, the Echani mulling over his elder's words as they continued on their way. He could not deny his mentor's wisdom. To abandon their strategy in favor of greater glory would only weaken their overall approach to the war, yet, the young Knight-Errant couldn't stop the imagery dancing through his mind. Memories of the day his father bid his family farewell, marching off to fight a war only he understood, came to mind. Though six or seven years must've passed since then, Errant could recall every detail vividly. The anger etched across his mother's statuesque features, the chilled touch of the wind on his tear-stricken cheeks, and the warmth behind his father's pained, distant eyes. Ven departed to face the Dark Lord on Kintan. Based on the fact he never came home, Errant and his mother were left to assume the worst.

An opportunity to face the Dark Lord in battle, to avenge his father, and drive the biting silver blade of his lightsaber into his black heart was all Errant could ask for. He wasted no time, putting himself through hours of vigorous training day in and day out, guided by both his mother and his latest master, the High Knight Marshall. Each second of Errant's life from the moment Ven disappeared had been dedicated to honing his skills in preparation for the fated encounter with Darth Carnifex, Emperor of the Sith Empire. Yet, that day seemed just out of reach. Had the Force Corps not departed Muunilist, perhaps Errant would've had his chance to cross blades with the Sith'ari. The thought alone fueled the flames inside him, threatening to overcome his sense of etiquette. Luckily, the young Echani found himself in the presence of the High Knight Marshall, her broken form a reminder of Bogan's corrupting presence.

Rurik's report echoed everything Errant felt, somewhat vindicating the younger Knight's feelings. He knew it held no correlation to the desire for greater glory, but it felt good nonetheless. Zovesa's words carried with them the weight of her position, alongside the wisdom of war, but something about it all seemed off to the Echani. He looked between Lambert, Dorian, and Mavia, awaiting something beyond typical banter, only to find disappointment when nothing stuck out. Perhaps Errant's more zealous view on the galaxy separated him from the rest of the Corps, but the High Knight Marshall's explanation wasn't enough.

"Excuse me, my Lady," Errant stepped forward once more, breaking from the line he assumed fell in place beside Commander Rurik. "Your metaphor would apply in normal circumstances, sure, but our war on the Sith-Imperial Regime is far from ordinary. We've dedicated nearly everything to the proverbial spear-thrust into Sith-space. Whether we strengthen our borders to the north or south of Mygeeto or Muunilist, there is a direct route beyond to Borosk or Diab. From Borosk, they could push to Troska, separating us from our main assault force. From Diab, they can advance to Aetten II or JanFathal, bordering our capital in a single strike, if they carry the power or strategic genius necessary," both hands remained behind his back, grasping tightly at one another for support. "I feel the spear is no longer within our heartland's grasp. At this point, we, the soldiers of the New Imperial Order, are the spear. We've been thrown forth, the heart of our enemies the target, Bastion, our prize. If we falter, misstep, or fail, our momentum will die away, and our forces neutralized," Errant spoke with more enthusiasm than usual, which amounted to less rigidity in form. Both of his hands now revealed themselves as one closed into a fist, pounding against the other's open palm to visually hammer the point home.

"The Force Corps are meant to be on the front lines. We've been trained to beat back the hated Crimson Saber, stem the pitch-black tide, and provide Order where there is none. I would ask you to recommend another course of action to the Sovereign-Imperator. Perhaps he can dedicate the Stormtrooper Corps to system-sweeps while we take point on the next leg of this journey."

Rurik Fel // Imperial Warlord Zovesa // Lambert Vasari // Dorian Sicarrio // Isaiah Dax​